


everything we need (right here)

by elizabethelizabeth



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Banter, Emphasis on the fluff though, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Laughter During Sex, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Post-Canon, Smut, when are these two idiots not bantering though?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24466768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizabethelizabeth/pseuds/elizabethelizabeth
Summary: "It's your own fault you know. The world was doing just fine before you invented fitted sheets."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 170
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations, Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically, Our Own Side, Promptposal





	everything we need (right here)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mintly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mintly/gifts).



> the go-events discord held PROM, our version of a gift exchange, in which I got to write a lovely fic for Mintly who is SO TALENTED AND BEAUTIFUL AND SWEET so I obviously got the best prom date. Mintly, I hope you enjoy, dear <3 <3 <3
> 
> fic title is from Jack Johnson's Banana Pancakes, the quintessential lazy morning song

The fitted sheet came undone and hit Crowley in the face, interrupting an excellent kiss that was on its way to becoming a snog. Crowley growled at the cotton, but when it did not obligingly move back to its original position, he was forced to pull away from Aziraphale's irresistible lips. "Bloody sheets."

None of this deterred Aziraphale, who did not so much as shrug before moving to kiss Crowley's shoulders as he messily fixed the undone sheet. "It's your own fault you know." He licked at the skin before moving to Crowley's neck, which only served to make Crowley's plan of wrestling the sheet under control all the more difficult. "The world was doing just fine before you invented fitted sheets."

"I didn't _invent_ them, told you." Crowley snapped his fingers in impatience, and the sheet was suddenly scared into submission. Aziraphale, very kindly, did not mention that Crowley could have done that from the start. "I just made them impossible to fold."

"You _did_ take credit for them, though, if I remember correctly." Despite Crowley's lips now being free for the kissing, Aziraphale kept his place in the crook of Crowley's neck, alternating between the grazing of kisses and teeth on the sensitive skin. Crowley, because he was a demon, did not whine highly pitched at the contact. No, the only reason he whined at all was because Aziraphale was _very_ good at kissing Crowley's neck. "I remember. It was 1959, in the fall, and you had to present a report on how, exactly, the humans would sell themselves to the devil in order to properly fold a fitted sheet."

"Not that I'm trying to sell myself short or anything," Crowley said, remembering his own agency and pulling at Aziraphale's shoulders, hoping he'd take the hint. "But I _really_ can't believe Hell fell for that. I made the whole thing up on the elevator ride downstairs."

"You expect me to believe you've thought through _any_ of your ideas, Crowley?" Aziraphale finally moved to hover over Crowley, and Crowley's breath caught in his throat. Aziraphale was beautiful on any given day, in any given attire or state of dress, but there was something unspeakably gorgeous about the angel at half-past six in the morning, entirely nude, hair unkempt and wild, smiling down at Crowley in teasing happiness. "I know you, you old serpent."

Crowley couldn't answer. These days, he'd rarely had the mind to respond to any of Aziraphale's well-meant teasing. It was difficult—no, impossible, to not be distracted by the heavenly glow, the ocean gaze, emotional pull of his heartstrings that was Aziraphale's everything. There was a time, years past, where a retort would have appeared easily on Crowley's tongue. But now, in the morning light diffusing their room in gold, the fresh air out the countryside combined with the garden-scent surrounding the two of them, Crowley found his mind blank of any words save for "I love you."

Aziraphale blushed a becoming shade of pink, obviously caught off guard, but not in a mood to argue, it seemed. "Scoundrel," was all he said before leaning down to kiss Crowley again, and Crowley delighted in the warmth and wetness of Aziraphale, open-mouthed and almost-moaning. 

"Original tempter, I'll remind you," and in combination with this words, Crowley moved his tempter's hands down Aziraphale's body, lingering in the places he knew would make Aziraphale move the moan from almost to actuality: shoulder blades, the swell of his chest, the crease of skin where thigh and pelvis met. With each slow sweep of his hands in matching tandem, Aziraphale whimpered and whined, ground his hips into Crowley's thigh so that he could perfectly feel the heady heaviness of the angel's arousal. "So easily aroused, sweetheart. Not even going to pretend to resist me?"

"Why should I?" Aziraphale asked, voice laced with clarity and provocation, all intended to make Crowley feel similar arousal. It worked. Of course it did. "I've denied myself your love for too long. Why pretend not to enjoy this?"

"What's—shit, ah, _angel_ —" It was hard to enunciate when there were wandering angel hands lingering lightly on Crowley's cock, barely there, whisper touch, enough to make Crowley rock his hips in search of more. "What's 'this'? Tell me, please." He was babbling now. That didn't take long, he thought, and knew that Aziraphale was having a similar thought. "Tell me everything. Talk to me. Tell me, please, everything."

"So many years spent denying myself the comfort of your love." Aziraphale, blessed angel, bastard, took hold of Crowley with increasing pressure. "The enjoyment of your company." There might have been a time, perhaps, when Crowley would be embarrassed at how close to coming he was just from this. But the demon liked to move fast, speed towards a destination, and then not stop. "The pleasure of your body." 

"Aziraphale—"

The fitted sheet came undone and hit Crowley in the face. Again.

" _Damn_ fucking blasted fucking—"

Aziraphale interrupted Crowley's rants with laughter, doubled over Crowley's body. Crowley didn't even bother struggling with the sheet this time, just glared up at Aziraphale. The angel had tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, his hand still on Crowley's cock, and this was officially the most frustrating seduction that Crowley had ever been subjected to. "Glad you're having a nice time, then."

Aziraphale started anew with a peal of laughter, open-mouthed and so joyous that it was difficult for Crowley to stay irritated. "Oh, my darling, I'm so sorry, it's just—" Aziraphale giggled, bit his lip as he (unfortunately) moved his hands to frame Crowley's cheeks. "You should have seen your face, my love."

"Your sheets are out to get me!" Were it not for Aziraphale leaning in slowly, Crowley might have made a rude gesture at the offending linen. As it was, he was hyper-focused on Aziraphale's face moving closer. "Preventing us from...you know."

"Do I?" Aziraphale kissed Crowley's cheek, petal-soft, barely there.

"Angel..."

"You can say 'fucking', dearest. The fitted sheets are preventing us from fucking." Aziraphale's mouth hovered over Crowley's own, nearly there, so closer. "I'll give them a stern talking to after I'm through with you, would you find that amenable?"

"Fine, peachy, fantastic." Crowley breathed out in responsive succession before their lips finally met. 

The sheets came further undone, mussed and messy, as the morning moved on to other changes of light, but it was quite a while before they received said talking to.


End file.
